


Revolution 2: Perfect Working Order

by campylobacter



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fanart, Hurt/Comfort, Illustrated, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-03
Updated: 2010-04-03
Packaged: 2017-10-09 14:28:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/campylobacter/pseuds/campylobacter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Daniel and Vala, hurt and comfort mean different things when you've died more than once. [Timeline set after Ark of Truth.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Revolution 2: Perfect Working Order

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Magnavox_23](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnavox_23/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Revolution](https://archiveofourown.org/works/618731) by [Magnavox_23](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnavox_23/pseuds/Magnavox_23). 



> Inspired by [a beautiful photo manipulation of Daniel &amp; Vala by magnavox_23 and the accompanying story "Revolution" that was first posted at daniel_vala for Springtime Is for Lovers March 2010 challenge](http://magnavox-23.livejournal.com/194187.html).

[ ](http://magnavox-23.livejournal.com/194187.html)

The last thing he remembers is Sam's voice, urgent through electronic static: "Teal'c, your amplifier's located their transponder signals. We've got a lock. Prepare for transport."

The next coherent thing he understands is Jack holding the sides of his face, making sure he's not in a coma. "Wake up, Daniel. Hey now, stay with me here. Next time you go joy-riding inside vinegar barrels down a cobblestone street, use an air bag."

Daniel opens his mouth to ask about Vala, but Mitchell's laugh interrupts. "Sunshine, you lucked out. When T found your glasses and Princess's hair bling on their Ara, we knew we'd found the right village."

Two mornings afterward (if that's what you call lightless days beneath a mountain), she identifies his presence in the infirmary before he speaks. The hot brine that the villagers had splashed onto her open wounds first contacted her face, burning her eyes and making her temporarily blind. "Dr. Lam's taking the bandages off my eyes today, Daniel."

He's the first thing she sees; sunrise is colored blue-gray for him that morning.

"You said something in the dark," she whispers against his neck, hours later, in her quarters. "Did you mean it? Or was it just a farewell?"

"Something I should've said a long time ago," he answers, tightening his embrace, "but it's been in every hello I say to you."

"Say hello again, and don't be gentle." She's defying physician's orders to rest. "Punch through the analgesics Dr. Lam gave me."

This time, the kiss isn't dry, but humid with promise; the room spins, revolves, tips them onto the neatly made bed.

He resents his shoelaces, because she makes a game of untying them with her teeth between kisses. As soon as his second boot hits the floor, he pulls her on top of him.

He's almost afraid to take off her shirt, knowing that the angry bruises against her ivory skin will only remind him of the part he played in the villagers' fervor to inflict their pain onto her body. Her shirt is warm, wadded in his fist after he peels it off; he doesn't want to toss it aside, but keep its fragrant warmth near the pillows. Her skin feels the same as the last time they were together like this, but she hisses as his palm brushes over contusions his hand can't see.

"Button… button… button…" she says in her low, smoky voice as she flicks open each button on his fly. "Inconvenient… but a trail… to great treasure." When she rubs the underwear over his erection, he decides to stop feeling guilty for getting so hard so fast.

"You have unconventional notions of being comforted." He's surprised at how quickly he can unbutton her military-issue pants, until he remembers it's the other thumb that was sprained.

"Name one way in which I'm conventional, darling." One hand in his pants, the other climbing up his back beneath his shirt, Vala positions her ear over his mouth, an invitation to let his lips near her most ticklish region.

He smirks, huffs a breath outward, and says, "You like me on top."

She stifles a giggle as his breath stirs the hair around her ear, and then gasps in surprise as he rolls her onto her back. The squeak she makes as he crushes her mouth with his is less conventional than satisfyingly inevitable. Her bra comes unhooked in his good hand almost as swiftly as his eyeglasses click safely onto her nightstand. He doesn't remember her taking them off his face; the convenient duplicity of her sleight-of-hand makes him increase the force of his kiss.

As he revels in the firm, high swell of her breasts in his hands, he becomes aware of the gradual exposure of more skin around his hips and thighs grinding against hers. Her busy hands have let her legs and feet take over pushing down their pants and undergarments. When he slides his hands lower around her back, to force her ass to stay in one place, she moans into their kiss and drags her hands through his hair, down his nape, down his spine, down to the cleft of his ass.

Mouth to mouth, hands everywhere on each other, they roll onto their sides and kick the garments off their legs.

"How many times did they roll us down that street?" she asks while pulling off his t-shirt.

"Lost count after eleven." Fully nude at last, he drapes a leg over her flank. "'Til they ran out of old barrels, I guess."

"Can't decide whether being burned alive is a better way to die." She thrusts her hips against his, insistent to connect.

"Staff blast is pretty quick." He obliges her nonverbal request by positioning his swollen cock just outside the source of wet, slick heat. "Would've kept me from thinking about that stupid polka."

"Poker?" she groans as he enters her quickly, at the perfect angle.

"No, a dance." He moves sideways to lodge himself all the way in. "Drinking song. 'Roll Out the Ba—'"

She winces as the movement pinches a bruise. "Your culture sings drunkenly about torture?"

Sensing her discomfort, he brushes the side of her face, then cradles the back of her head. "Vala, shh…"

She moans as he rolls onto his back to let her ride him without pressing her bruises. The movement jars him out of her; she shifts and re-positions herself, and then lowers herself slowly onto his stiff, slick cock.

When two celestial bodies orbit each other, they convert rotational inertia into tidal changes. His hands cup her breasts as she establishes a rhythm; slow, delicious waves of pleasure ebb and flow through them, through the aches of their shared ordeal, through the cresting need to feel alive again.

Closing his eyes, he sees her injuries stark against the memory of her flawless flesh; opening them, he sees them transformed into evidence of her ability to spin adversity into a healing ritual. With each gyration of her hips, her breasts sway above him, topped by erect nipples made more sensitive by his teasing fingertips. The lazy fixation in her gaze reminds him that her renewed vision must see the familiar reborn in him.

He lets each thrust build slowly, and keeps himself in low orbit when he senses her impending collision. As a guttural reinterpretation of his name escapes her lips, he pushes his back into the mattress and shoves his hips upward as she comes.

Vala's alive, sweating, panting, teeth pressed near his earlobe as tides of bliss swell and subside within her, around him. It's not enough; he's died too many times for this to be enough.

He lets her movements still as satiation flushes her skin. He rolls them onto their sides, off the pillow, tosses the pillow on the floor.

"Kneel on that," he whispers into her ear. "I wanna finish… take you from behind."

"Hmm, rather cheeky for an injured man," she chuckles, but complies without hesitation, resting her torso on the edge of the bed. "At least one thing seems to be in perfect working order."

"I like cheeks," he says, moving behind her and spreading her legs. "Yours are the best I've seen." The extra wetness from her recent orgasm accommodates him easily, and Daniel penetrates her smoothly.

He's surrounding her, arms forming a cage around her as he props himself up and works himself in and out. Her head is turned in profile on the bedcovers; he can see the second revolution of pleasure build in her face.

"Hold on," he warns, before slamming hard into her for a dozen strokes. Now it's enough, almost too much, as he bursts apart inside her, detonating the energy of strain into the ache of delight.

"Oh god," she groans, absorbing the force of his climax, trembling with her own. "Oh… god."

They remain still as long as possible, but he can't stay locked behind her for long; the strength of his orgasm rapidly returns his cock to a quiescent state.

He pulls away, tries to pull her onto the bed with him, but she's too spent to move. He settles for letting her cradle his head as he curls around hers.

The nightmare has faded, replaced by the knowledge that loving Vala—and letting himself tell her—is all the sanctuary Daniel needs in their corner of the galaxy.

[](http://pics.livejournal.com/campylobacter/pic/000dxydq/g110)   



End file.
